#heartless241

Mick gruntsand pulls out a chair, slamming his bottle down with a little more force thannecessary.

“What got your panties in a twist?“ he snaps,and then regrets it a little bit when Haircut glances up and he looks...hurt. Because Haircut hasn’t grown up in the same world as Mick has, and hedoesn’t know that Mick isn’t being an asshole, he just doesn’t have any otherway of doing this ‘feelings’ crap. You gotta have some rough to balance out thesoft, that’s what Mick learned, and sometimes it drives him nuts to see Raymondletting all the sappy, soft emotions justhang out for the world to see.  

Like whenhis mouth twists into a sad smile – there’s something so openly vulnerableabout him that Mick’s gut twists into a tight knot. Anyone could use that againstRaymond, anyone, and what does itmean that Raymond’s not afraid of Mick being the one to do it? Mick doesn’twant to think about it, so he grasps for anything else to say: he’s not one tofill silences with unnecessary words, but somehow, this quiet, pensive Raymondis way too wrong.

And then, Haircutcurls his fingers around his glass and brings it to his lips, and the sharpscent of alcohol carries all the way to Mick.

“Are you drunk?”he asks, the glassy sheen of Raymond’s eyes suddenly making a lot more sense.

“Not yet,” Haircutmumbles, “but I’m trying to be.”

Mick doesn’tlike the sound of that. “Why?”

“Becauseyou seem to be doing that a lot… so it must be helping, right?”

That’s howMick knows Haircut’s boozed up to the gills: who in their right mind would makeMick an example of healthy coping?! Even heknows that he’s been drinking a lot. It’s not a problem, he could stop if hewanted to, it’s just that he doesn’t have a reason to want to be sober.

Maybe Haircutdoesn’t have one, either.

“What’re wedrinking about?” Mick shrugs. He always hates talking about the thingsbothering him, mostly because he doesn’t know how to voice them, and partlybecause he’s afraid that letting them out would just bring the nightmares back.But Haircut’s different, Haircut always has words for every little stupid thingthat crosses his mind, dozens, hundreds of words just flooding his mind, so heprobably knows what the fuck it is that’s driving him to the bottom of abottle.

It takes alittle while for Raymond to breathe in deeply enough to let out what’stroubling him.

“A friendgot married today,” he says. Mick nods – he was there, and he doesn’t think nowis the time to point out that the speedster didn’t, in fact, marry hisgirlfriend because Nazis invaded. He doesn’t think the technicalities areimportant here: when Haircut continues, it turns out Mick was wrong anyway. “Iused to be in love with her. And it kind of reminded me of Kendra, and how it didn’twork out with her, and how every woman I ever cared about left. Or died: but withmy track record, who’s to say Anna wouldn’t have left in the end too?”

Hechuckles, but it’s sad and broken, and he finishes his drink in one long gulpthat leaves him coughing into his hand. When he looks at Mick again, there aretears in his eyes, and Mick doesn’t believe it’s just because of booze goingdown the wrong pipe.

“Go on,” Haircutshakes his head, mouth twisting in something like a smile, “tell me. I know I’moverreacting, and it’s stupid and I shouldn’t be doing this-“

“Nah,” Mickinterrupts, gulping down the rest of his beer, “sometimes you just gotta let ithurt.”

Raymondlooks at him then like he wants to ask about all the times Mick has taken thatadvice, and one of them is definitely not drunk enough for that conversation.

So Mickgets up (ignoring the resignation in Raymond’s eyes is harder than he would’vethought) and punches his order into the fabricator: because this right here,this needs something stronger. He sits down a minute later, setting the bottleof Jack in front of Haircut, and huffs when he’s met with a small, gratefulsmile.

“You don’thave to keep an eye on me, you know,” Haircut says quietly, like he’s ashamedof taking up too much space and time. It’s a feeling Mick knows too fuckingwell, and he’s not about to let Raymond wallow in it all by himself.

Mick poursthem both a healthy four fingers’ measure and pushes a glass towards the otherman. “Sure I do. You need to get shitfaced, I’m here to make sure you do itwell.”